


Growler

by StarsGarters



Series: Growler [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Digital Art, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Enthusiastic Consent, Fluff and Smut, HYDRA Trash Party, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 17:10:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1825855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsGarters/pseuds/StarsGarters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers and Brock Rumlow share a quiet evening of beer, war stories and fornication. With apologies to Fleetwood Mac.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Growler

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Growler 啤酒](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2620193) by [xyoshiki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xyoshiki/pseuds/xyoshiki)
  * Translation into Русский available: [Пивовар](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7545963) by [Saysly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saysly/pseuds/Saysly)



After yet another successful covert mission to save the world, the highly trained STRIKE team operatives relaxed on the flight home. A tall blond man known the world over as Captain America stared out the window at the dark churning waters below them, lost in old memories and his own thoughts. 

"Not a single shot fired," the STRIKE team leader remarked to Steve over the hum of the helicarrier rotors. " _Again_. I like having you on my team. Even though my gun is starting to get rusty." Brock Rumlow chuckled. "What are you doing tonight to blow off some post mission steam?" 

"Oh, probably a good book and a glass of warm milk." Captain America good-naturedly smiled back. His evening plans were never too exciting, he had SHIELD duties to provide the thrills. Every mission seemed to get more covert, less straight-forward. Sometimes Steve wondered if he was doing the right thing, all of the time. After New York, well it was harder to trust anyone. 

Rumlow rolled his eyes. "Sounds  _rousing_. Wanna join me and the boys for some beer and pizza? You do eat pizza right?" 

"As long as it has pepperoni, but can't say that beer does much for me. That pretty much goes for all alcohol." Rogers shrugged. "Haven't been hammered since the Forties."  

"You don't drink it to get hammered, you drink it for the  _flavor_. You've never had craft-brewed porter? Sweet, mellow and dark as sin?  _Really_?" Rumlow's voice was incredulous and he shook his head. "You've missed out, Big Guy." 

"I've missed out on a whole bunch of things. Most of the twentieth century, for example. I try not to be bitter about it." He leaned his head back against the bulkhead, the vibrations from the engines rattled through his teeth. 

"Well you're not missing out on this.  _I_  can show you this. I've got a couple of growlers chilling in the fridge and I'm not taking no for an answer Cap." Rumlow clapped Steve on his armored shoulder.

"So I've got no choice?" It was a weak protest, because Steve was curious about his team leader, the man's biting wit and quick smiles reminded him of his old Howling Commandos. He'd never admit to it, never wallow in self-indulgence but Steve was lonely. 

"None. You're coming back to my place." He reached out and firmly gripped Steve's gloved hand. Rumlow's hand lingered and he flashed Steve a white grin in the red-lit darkness that seemed to promise mischief. 

"What about them?" Steve inclined his head to indicate the rest of the crew who were chatting amongst themselves and dozing.  

"I'm not sharing my  _good_  beer with  _them_." Rumlow smirked, "They wouldn't appreciate it."

\---

Rumlow's one bedroom flat was neater than Steve had expected, colorful old guitars and large bookcases were mounted on the walls and a fish tank gurgled and hummed pleasantly. Rumlow kicked off his shoes at the entrance, so Steve did the same. 

"Mi casa es su casa." Rumlow gestured expansively and headed to his bedroom, "Do you mind if I shower?" He politely called out from the back room, not really waiting for permission as he pulled off his shirt and tossed his wallet on a table. 

"Nope! As long as you don't mind me rifling through your belongings. You've got a ton of vinyl records." 

Shirtless and with his pants halfway undone, Rumlow popped back into the living room. For a moment, Steve studied the STRIKE leader. Lean and covered in hard-earned muscle, scars crisscrossed his tanned skin, pale and shiny. A twisted gnarl of a long-healed wound on his flank. Only one tattoo, a linework Jolly Roger flag on Rumlow's left pectoral.  Steve couldn't get tattoos now. His skin pushed out the ink as it healed.

"Ouch." Steve mildly commented when Rumlow caught him staring.

"If I get drunk enough, I'll tell you about Afghanistan and the magic of improvised explosive devices, thank God they missed my pretty face, right?" Rumlow pointed at the twisted scar tissue. "But you have to promise to tell me about France. Deal?" Steve nodded. 

"What about the tattoo? Is there a story behind that?"

"Yes. I was 19 and Jaegermeister was involved." Rumlow rolled his eyes at his past youthful decisions and he offered, "Feel free to put some music on. I've got a bunch of Benny Goodman in there." Then he went back to his shower. Steve smiled as he walked away, more scars traversed his back. 

Steve selected something that he didn't recognize, but the cover was curious, it looked like a pair of dancers negotiating a duet. He carefully slid out the album and placed it on the turntable, the record player arm descended and Steve adjusted the volume. Wouldn't do to offend the neighbors on his first visit. First visit, Steve thought. Was he already planning another?  

Rumlow came back, damp from his shower and wearing only a pair of SHIELD insignia track pants. Steve was sitting on the leather couch with his eyes closed, listening intently to the lyrics with a calm, pensive expression on his face. 

_If you wake up and don't want to smile,_  
_If it takes just a little while,_  
_Open your eyes and look at the day,_  
_You'll see things in a different way._  
  
_Don't stop, thinking about tomorrow,_  
_Don't stop, it'll soon be here,_  
_It'll be, better than before,_  
_Yesterday's gone, yesterday's gone._

" _Rumors_ , huh? Good choice. Stevie's got some awesome pipes." Rumlow dug into his freezer and pulled out a frozen pizza. 

"He sure does." Rogers agreed emphatically.

"Stevie's the girl." Rumlow turned on the oven, unwrapped the pizza and put it on the rack. 

Steve sighed, "Of course she is." 

"Hope you don't mind frozen food, because my multitude of talents does not include cooking anything other than a field ration. But my rations are  _exceptional_." Rumlow shut the oven door and leaned against the kitchen island. 

Steve nodded at Rumlow and pointed at his scars. "Where did you serve Rumlow?" 

"Skirmishes. Bit of black ops work. Teeny tiny bit of soldier of fortune, that is until SHIELD stepped in and showed me the light." He spread his well-muscled arms out beatifically, then crossed them. "I just want to make this world a better place. And at any cost."

Steve walked over to the kitchen and leaned back on the island counter with Rumlow. "That's pretty much the only reason to be a soldier. And you're a _great_ one. I mean, I've served with a lot of..." Steve paused, thinking of the right words.

"Gods? Monsters? Billionaire playboys?" Rumlow laughed, a deep throaty chuckle. "Natasha." 

"Right. And you're still pretty damn good at what you do Rumlow." Steve looked at his sock clad feet. 

Rumlow took the opportunity to take a brown glass jug from the fridge and slowly pour two glasses full of thick black-brown beer. He handed a glass to Steve and their fingers met. Neither man pulled away for a few moments. Rumlow cocked his head slightly to the side then with eyes crinkling with amusement, he lifted his glass. "A toast then to being  _pretty damn good._ " 

"I can drink to that." Steve grinned and took a sip, wrinkling his nose at the texture. "Is beer supposed to be  _chewy_?"

The pizza was passable, the beer was tastier than Steve had expected. Rumlow had brewed it himself at a co-op down the street so his flat didn't smell like a brewery. Steve appreciated people that took pride in their work, in their hobbies. It didn't hurt that his host was cheerful and gregarious, at times even flirtatious. Not that Steve was good at picking up on these things, it had been a long time since he had even kissed someone else.

Rumlow was telling him something about the album they were listening to, but Steve was distracted by the way his ass looked in those track-pants as he knelt on the floor to grab something from the bookcase.

"How you holding up Big Guy? Is this better than warm milk and an early bedtime?" 

"Beer, pizza and music? Best date I've been on in ages." The words slipped out and Rumlow looked at him with heavy lids and a knowing smile. Steve blushed a brilliant red. 

"Date huh?" Rumlow sat back on his heels and observed Steve, looking at him with a predatory glint in his eyes. 

"Nice fish! Are those piranha?" Steve blurted out. "Why piranha?" 

"I like the way they're always smiling at me. I like the way you smile at me Cap. Makes me feel all patriotic and tingly. Watching you work has been an honor, you're  _pretty damn good_ at what you do too."

"So you're umm... okay with the company of gentlemen?" Steve gritted out between his teeth as Rumlow moved to sit on the suddenly too small leather sofa. 

"Well I'm not gonna be Grand Marshal of the Pride Parade, but for the right guy..." Rumlow licked his lips. "Yeah, the company of  _certain_ gentlemen. I'm cool with that. Are you, Cap?" He leaned in closer, smelling of expensive shampoo and porter on his breath, his black hair still a bit damp and spiky from his shower. 

"Um, well, you know--" Steve's words died in his throat as Rumlow licked his lips again and kissed the side of his jaw. Steve swallowed hard and groaned out, "Yeah. Me too." 

"When's the last time someone did something nice for you Cap? Without any strings attached?" Brock kissed the hollow of his throat and guided Steve's face towards his own. 

"People are nice to me all the time..." Steve leaned into Rumlow's arms, pliant and hungry. "It must be the uniform." 

"It does cling to your ass like an American Dream." Rumlow's kisses were long and slow with hints of nipping, setting the pace while they savored the strength of each other's body. "Look, I can tell you're holding back, afraid you might hurt me?" Rumlow challenged him, trailing a finger down Steve's lips. 

"I'm always afraid that I might hurt someone. It just comes with the whole Super Soldier territory." Words were hard to form because Rumlow slid his hands up Steve's t-shirt and with practiced grace slipped the clothing over his head. "I have to be careful."

"Then lean back and let me take over. I am STRIKE team leader you know. I officially out-rank you." Rumlow nimbly unfastened the button on Steve's pants and undid the zipper fly. "Just a warning, if your shorts are red, white and blue, I will die laughing. Right here. Right here on the couch." 

"Yes, sir! And no, sir! Don't tell me they make underwear out of the flag. Really? That's so disrespectful!" Steve gasped out as Rumlow gripped his cock and smirked appreciatively. 

"Suddenly, I know exactly what to get you for Christmas, Captain." Rumlow stroked Steve's cock with a firm spit-slicked hand, enjoying the expression on Rogers' face. Rumlow's smile was more like the permanent grin on his piranhas. He'd seen how powerful Captain America was first hand in missions.  Those massive arms and legs were deadly weapons, but right now the pinnacle of human development gripped the leather sofa arm and bit his lower lip in bliss.

Rumlow knelt between Steve's legs and licked the head of his cock, swirling his tongue. _Pretty damn good_ , he thought, with the single-minded goal of making a living legend call out his name.  He slipped Steve's cock deep inside his mouth and sucked with vigor until he could feel Steve's thighs quiver. Strong fingers wound in Rumlow's hair and unintelligible moans made Rumlow hard. But this wasn't just about him and his aching hard on, this was about building trust with the symbol of SHIELD. Rumlow had never fucked a hero before. 

Steve's hips bucked and Rumlow swallowed the hot salty emission down with nary a sputter or gag. "Brock. Oh my-- oh my." Rumlow stood up and took a swig of lukewarm beer, swished his mouth and swallowed. He beamed with pride at the limp, glowing man on his sofa. Captain Steve Rogers was a beautiful man. 

"You're welcome." Rumlow winked. "You can stay the night if you want,"

"I think I could pass out right here on the couch." Steve tucked himself back inside his pants and shook his head as if to clear cobwebs from his brain. He looked at Rumlow with hooded blue eyes glazed with lust and Rumlow's gut clenched. Good God damn. 

"Nah man. I wouldn't make you sleep on the couch. I'd be a shitty host if I did that." He nodded towards the bedroom. "Come on. I promise that I don't snore. Much." He offered Steve a hand and helped him to his feet. He was a little surprised when Rogers pulled him close, wrapped his arms around his shoulders and ground his revived erection against Rumlow's ass. 

"I can't promise that you'd get much sleep if we shared a bed, Brock."

"Shit, you're hard again? That quick?"  

"They don't talk about that part of the experiment. Don't worry, if you want to sleep this won't be the first time I've lived with aching balls." The crude language from his heroic lips excited Rumlow, maybe Captain America wasn't an obstacle. Maybe he could be subverted, recruited to serve a higher purpose than SHIELD. But those devious thoughts slunk away as Steve nibbled upon his neck, licking and biting on a bit of scar tissue. Rumlow leaned back against the Avenger and let himself give in to pleasure.

Steve slipped his questing hands down Rumlow's track pants and gripped his hard cock. "I can tell I'm already going to regret this in the morning, I'm not as young as I used to be, Cap." He grunted out through his moans as Steve slowly jacked his cock.  

Captain America laughed, "Well I'm ninety-five years old, so try to keep up, Old Man." Then he licked a stripe up Rumlow's neck and teased the nipple under the pirate flag with his free hand. Steve grinned as Rumlow swatted his hand away, very reluctantly and dragged him into the bedroom. 

Steve discovered much later that night that Rumlow was a liar. He snored like a chainsaw. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I always thought that Steve looked particularly disturbed at Brock's betrayal, so maybe they'd made a connection, shared a few experiences beyond the battlefield. Maybe it was personal...


End file.
